


fine

by thanksroach (irnhero)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, Friends With Benefits, Hopeful Ending, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Sort Of, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irnhero/pseuds/thanksroach
Summary: Jaskier is still awake when the sun begins to rise. He lays there under the blankets staring at the remnants of last night’s fire, embers still smoking, as the early rays brighten their camp. The first birds have yet to begin their song, but he knows it will be soon.The arm across his waist twitches and the pit of dread nestled in his gut lurches back to life. His little reprieve would end very soon now. One more night was all he wanted, a precious few more moments to pretend. He’s lucky to have had even this, he knows, but as it slips away he can’t help but wish for more. Such is his greedy, foolish heart, the very fiend that tangled him up in this in the first place.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	fine

**Author's Note:**

> i’m posting polished versions of some of my [febuwhump prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139258/chapters/71536530) on their own so they can have their time to shine; this was for the prompt, "i can't do this anymore"

Jaskier is still awake when the sun begins to rise. He lays there under the blankets staring at the remnants of last night’s fire, embers still smoking, as the early rays brighten their camp. The first birds have yet to begin their song, but he knows it will be soon. 

It hadn’t been an especially cold night; autumn was still a while away. And yet, Jaskier finds himself folded into an embrace usually reserved for real cold. Warm breath still ghosts across his nape and a familiar _thump_ against his back, steady and slow as it had been all through the night. 

The arm across his waist twitches and the pit of dread nestled in his gut lurches back to life. His little reprieve would end very soon now. One more night was all he wanted, a precious few more moments to pretend. He’s lucky to have had even this, he knows, but as it slips away he can’t help but wish for more. Such is his greedy, foolish heart, the very fiend that tangled him up in this in the first place.

He was so happy that first night. A little drunk, he grants, but when Geralt pulled him close and kissed him breathless, Jaskier could have touched the fucking clouds. And maybe it was the wine, but everything about that night was perfect to him. The way Geralt kissed him, the way he touched him, the way he moaned in his ear and held him close after. Perfect like a dream.

So when Jaskier woke to a cold bed and a grunt in place of a ‘good morning’, he didn’t let it phase him. Much. Of course, it would be this way, he’d have been a fool to think otherwise. And it was fine. He had his perfect memories and that could be enough. He could make that enough.

But then it happened again. And again. And it was fine. Better, perhaps. Jaskier could do that, be a friend in the every day and something else on occasion. Something closer to what he wanted. Yes, he could do that, had done that before. It was _fine_.

Until it wasn’t.

Geralt disappeared from the inn where they stayed one night in some backwater town, Jaskier forgets the name. And that was fine, he was a grown man, free to do as he pleased. Jaskier didn’t think anything of it at the time. Early the next morning, Geralt woke him with a trail of kisses down his spine.

And it was _perfect_.

Perfect, until Jaskier curled up to Geralt’s chest and his nose bumped his skin and he smelled it. Lilacs. And maybe Jaskier could have convinced himself that it was nothing, to let it be because his sense of smell was no winner anyway, but then he saw it. A red smudge just beneath Geralt’s ear.

Jaskier didn’t linger then, throwing on clothes and going to fetch a bath. He felt filthy all of the sudden. Everywhere Geralt had touched him, everywhere he’d kissed him, haunted by the ghost of someone else. Because that’s what Jaskier was, wasn’t he? An object of convenience, second string. Couldn’t be bothered to wash before climbing into his bed. He was nothing.

And it wasn’t that he blamed her or even Geralt, not really. There was no anger or hostility in his heart for either of them. Jaskier knew what this was from the beginning. No promises had been made to him, no expectations set. He hadn’t the right to hope for it in the first place. The only blame to be had sat firmly in Jaskier’s own lap.

It should have been the last time, he sees that now. But he’s always been weak in these matters. So when Geralt ran a hand up his thigh or nosed gently at his neck, Jaskier leaned into the touch. And when Geralt came to him in the early hours stinking of perfume with color still smeared on his skin, Jaskier held his breath and closed his eyes. If Geralt noticed, he never said, and that was alright.

It was _fine_. Jaskier could do this. He could take these moments with the one he loved, even as that one pined for another. He could warm Geralt’s bed, even hours after someone else had left it. He could be nothing. He could…

The birds start singing. The blankets shift. The arm around Jaskier’s waist pulls back and a hand slips up his loose shirt. Lips touch his shoulder. He closes his eyes and bites down hard on his lip.

_No more._

“I can’t do this anymore,” Jaskier says. His voice is no stronger than he feels.

The hands and lips freeze on his skin, then are gone all at once. Jaskier shivers at their absence, even though it’s not especially cold. He sits up, drawing his knees into his chest. He sees Geralt sat on the edge of the bedding, as far away as he can be without subjecting his bare backside to twigs and thorns.

Geralt’s brow is furrowed, much the same as it always is, but deeper now, more troubled. “I thought… I thought you wanted this.”

“I did. I do.”

“I don’t understand.”

Jaskier sighs deeply and looks off to the side, escaping the intensity of it all for a moment. All night, he lied awake imagining this conversation and never made any progress planning his speech. The words eluded him in a way words never did. He turns back.

“I love you.” The admission weighs heavy on Jaskier’s chest.

Geralt says nothing for a beat. Then, “I know.” Of course, he does. Dense, he may be, but a fool, he is not. It’s the response Jaskier expected if there had been a response at all. It hurts anyway.

“I can’t–” it sounds wrong in Jaskier’s ears and he stops himself. _Deep breath._ “I want more than you are ready to give. And I can’t be…” _A consolation. Nothing._ “I can’t be this for you anymore. I can’t idle while you work out what you want.”

Geralt opens his mouth but is silent for a moment, searching for words. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Jaskier smiles in spite of himself, a delicate, fragile thing. “No more than I want to leave.”

“But you will.”

His little smile slips and Jaskier drops his gaze. “I need time. Can you give me that?”

Bright light shines between the trees as the sun’s face begins to show, as if the world truly intends to go on with or without them. Jaskier feels its warmth on his skin and aches for the beginning it promises. Geralt nods stiffly and Jaskier reaches his hand across the little space between them. Geralt doesn’t hesitate long before tangling their fingers lightly.

A new day dawns.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [tumblr](https://d-andilion.tumblr.com/)


End file.
